Skyhook
by SpicyArbiter
Summary: AU. The year is 2326 Council Time. The Prothean AI on Ilos, Vigil, Releases most of the Protheans, rather than kill them. In a fit a defiance, they take all their remaining might into the galaxy, mess up Harbinger, and fade away. In addition, there are no Prothean ruins on Mars; no mass effect, no eezo, and the year is 2052. Rated M just in case.


**So**** I keep starting fics and then just stopping. I lose intrest, I guess, or I'm too busy. I dunno. We'll see if the same happens here.**

**Disclaimer- I do not own Mass Effect. Obviously. Considering humanity has the capability and technology to make th tethers now, I'd probably use all the money I'd have from owning EA to make this happen. Seriously. Kurgesagt's youtube video called "Skyhook." Look it up, it's cool. And, if you can't already tell, I'm bad at naming things, so I just stole that. And basically all of the main character's accomplishments are theirs. I'm a tad uncreative, sue me.**

**I'll be slowly updating chapters over time. I don't have a lot of time, so I'll just do little spurts and paragraphs. Check back every few days, the latest chapter will probably have more added to it. If you think that's fucking stupid, I don't care. I have a short attention span and a shorter memory. If I think of something, I'm putting down and publishing it.**

**Another thing, this isn't beta'd. PM me or leave a review pointing out typos, please and thank you.**

"MV _Window of Fate_ and SNV _Tesik VI_, this is Citadel Control, you are cleared for Relay 314 activation. Honestly, how did you get the Council to agree to this?"

"Control, this is _Tesik VI._ Copy, proceeding with relay activation," The salarian paused, "How do you think? Money. And, I wouldn't be surprised if there was an exchange of technology involved."

"_Tesik,_ Control. Makes sense, we're all starting to run out of space. Just don't bring back any more species bent on our destruction, and we'll call it good," Joked the Turian, light-years away, on the Citadel.

"Copy, Control. We'll do our best. Next report in 12 hours. "

"Good hunting. Control out."

XxXxX

Jason woke up to the female voice of the co-pilot over the intercom.

"Sirs, we are arriving at the Pluto Tether in 15 minutes. Please take your seats and secure yourselves as we perform final burn."

He yawned, then reached above his head and grabbed the crash webbing attached to the side of his recliner. He pulled it over, and stuck two metal hooks, connected to the corners of the webbing, into receptacles hidden in between the arm of the chair and the seat cushion. Next, he stuck his head through a hole in the top of the webbing, then his arms, and last he took the traditional seatbelt attached to the hull next to his chair and strapped in.

To his left, across the aisle, Jason saw his friend, who he pulled with him on the year-and-a-half-long trip from Venus all the way to the dwarf planet, performing the same motions.

It wasn't just them, of course, Jason was just the money of the operation. There were scientists, researchers, a few government officials from each planet (and the 30 or so interested nations from Earth), surprisingly, their security details, some excitable adventurers that won a lottery, his personal security detail, and a few businessmen he knew and trusted. Not that he was complaining. They get free transportation, and priority tether travel, and he got the chance to go down in history. Well, _again._ He was the dude who made the tethers happen, after all. And funded all the scientists who made aging and disease a thing of the past. The _Immortal Gene,_ as the propos called it. Terraformed Mars. Built the Cloud Cities of Venus. A lot of things, really.

One of the only records he didn't break was to become the richest man in history; he could have been, sure, but with how much money he spent every year, he hardly ever had more than a couple billion. Well, hardly was relative, his parents would've killed to have that much money. The richest man alive, however, had something like 700 billion, made off of mining asteroids, refining the metals, and establishing his own government in the asteroid belt.

Jason had his phone number. He was a cool dude. And his nation, while technically a dictatorship, was actually one of the best places to live in the system. All the mining was automated, anyway, so there weren't any unsafe working conditions there. The people were all provided for and happy, leading good, meaningful lives.

It was same story pretty much everywhere in the system, except for some sections of Earth and the Kuiper belt fringe. Earth was widely known to the system as a haven for stubborn, bigoted people who had forsaken all logic, rational thought process, and higher brain function. The Fringe was just where all the criminals, scum of scociety, and outlaws went. Jason was planning to deal with it soon, but he had yet to collaberate with his colleagues in the unofficial official government of the system he helped found—the Space Trade Coalition, commonly referred to as the Coalition or the STC—to determine the best way to peacefully resolve the situation, and perhaps involve Interpol. Jason had liked the name, so he stole it from the original, on Earth, and then attached it to the STC's security force some 20 years ago.

Venus was where Jason spent most of his time. The view, the people, the fact that he had his own private 'Island', and the Orbital Defense Grid (nicknamed ODDGOD) definitely made it the best place to live, in his opinion.

The cloud cities were made with three things in mind. Safety, Comfort, and Minimalism. In keeping with safetey, there were impassable fences surrounding each city, except for the edge of the tarmac for the Inter-City Aerial Transport Network, but that was monitored. Not to prevent people from leaving, but to prevent scuicides, catch murderers dropping corpses off (not that such a thing ever happened. It was just a precaution, considering how convenient it was), and the occasional drunkard. Scuicides basically never happened anywhere except Earth, still, and the Fringe. Earth, because Earthlings are fucking stupid and haven't created any form of certification or overwatch to catch all the child abuse going on, among many other problems, most of the intelligent people left, and all the sick, messed up people hung around the planet, or traveled to the Fringe, and the Fringe because criminals. Jason thought that was enough of an explanation.

The only reason the Fringe still existed was because someone had figured out how to jury rig nukes from old, half-decommissioned shells of the things left over from Cold World War 3. Jason had been 28 during the overblown 'Conflict' that lasted two months and got a grand total of 9 people killed.

One of the things the STC did was make sure the news reported unbiased, accurate, and informative _news _instead of the _garbage_ those glorified gossip rags spewed.

The crime rate inter-system was higher than he'd like, but there were only deaths in the single digits each year per planet, excluding Earth, and presumably the Fringe. Interpol was very good at their job. Not to mention better funded investigation units with better access, and a stricter certification process. Drunkards, however, were common.

Jason was jolted from his monologue by the jolting of the ship connecting to the Tethernav Drone.

The intercom came on, "All passengers, please remain seated and buckled as we decend."

Someone from the Earth gaggle had been flung from their seat during the Saturn Tether descent, and had consequently had his legs, right arm, and intestines scraped from the ceiling and regrown. Upon investigation, it was found his chair had been sabotaged by another Earth incompetent wielding a Neptune hack tool. The offending Hermaphrodite had been immediately arrested and left on Saturn, to be sent to the Jupiter Prison/Rehabilitation Center (JPRC, or more commonly, The Jerk. The slang devoloped mostly from the sexual term, but quickly became synonymos with hell).


End file.
